The Art of Seduction
by Novoux
Summary: Izaya never realized idiots who take his parking spot could also be very, very handsome blonds. Shizaya, Izuo


Again.

As in, one more day and _one_ more time where the same, ugly beat up car has managed to steal his parking spot. Let alone at three in the morning on a Sunday and that doesn't faze Izaya at all.

Back to the car, _in his parking spot._ Somewhere he hears the sound of human suffering when he grinds his teeth together. Hands clenching together in a poorly attempted act of trying to keep himself calm, Izaya counts to ten. In Russian.

Today, then, he'll just have to call the parking lot maintenance office and leave a harsh complaint about idiots who think it's some sort of practical joke to steal his parking spot at three in the morning on a Sunday. Though attempting to explain it would probably just bring doubt and disbelief, something he'd rather not have to deal with or the threat to his reputation.

One week into this nonsense of finding some old shitty car in his parking spot and Izaya knows he isn't going crazy. No, not anywhere near it, despite what his coworkers say–and may he just remind them that he's their boss while they're at it–and no, there's no _official_ list for who can park where, but anyone with a brain would notice that this spot is reserved for him.

And this idiot has a car with some remnants of sanded off wording, like a bad attempt at removing a brand pizza chain line's name from the sides and painting it over with red paint. Add the dirty, rusted and sun-bleached red coloring in and that's the image of the car which is probably a joke sitting in Izaya Orihara's parking spot.

Nearly every other space in this line is open. Why this idiot chose Izaya's with the few exceptions of others who start this early regularly, he doesn't know. He doesn't necessarily care, but when it comes to the matter of his parking spot (which he grudgingly admits to himself he has a particular fondness for its accessibility) he can feel his temper simmering under his skin.

After turning the ignition off Izaya sighs to himself, parked right next to his spot and glaring at the car with a huff of indignation. Whoever this idiot is he'll find them, ruin them, and then possibly fire them for their insubordination. Or whatever fancy title he can give to "pissing off the CEO" of a very large corporation where being fired can be associated with a sudden suicide article in the papers.

Whoever this shady, asshole of a parking spot thief is, he doesn't care. Whether they're high up in the branch or one of the forgotten underlings, it doesn't matter.

It should be humiliating that he gets this angry over something like this, but it's even more impossible to explain _how._

A figure comes toward the parking spot when he lifts his head again, preparing to just tough it out and go inside before controlling his rage to a small temper flare directed at the culprit. As he watches the human come toward him he reasons that the one who takes parking spots of executive CEOs is not a human but a monster, he begins to realize that the man–the broad shoulders define the gender very well in the street lamp light–is coming toward him, which can only mean several things, all of them awful.

Until he realizes that the man is heading _toward_ the sun-bleached red abomination.

With a cold sense of dread that bubbles into his throat he watches the monster of an asshole go to unlock the door, going inside the orange-red piece of shit to grab something and up until the door shuts Izaya's still in mortified anger. Though as the car door slams shut with the squeal of metal on metal ringing in his ears, it's easy enough to snap out of his daze and stop the idiot for a verbal lesson in humiliation.

Oh, the things he'd do to a simpleton, a complete _protozoan_ of an excuse for a human being…

"Excuse me," Izaya makes his presence known as soon as he steps outside of his sleek black car, the name not even worth mentioning to this lumbering fool. "What do you think you're doing in _my_ parking spot? Do you know what you've been doing for the past week, or are you one of those blithering drunken idiots that run errands if they're mentally capable of breathing?"

The fool has the audacity to turn to him, covered in the shade of the streetlight and nearly impossible to see save for the silhouette of broad shoulders that look like they stretch in a normal suit. Of course, for a monster it would be normal.

"What's it to you, asswipe?" The voice growling back at him is far different than what Izaya expects. Nevertheless, he doesn't let it stop him as the idiot's shoulders stiffen and he growls like a beast. "Last time I checked, there's no rule that says every goddamn parking spot is yours."

Turning to leave only incites Izaya's rage. "Don't walk away from me, you protozoan idiot. I don't care if it doesn't have my name on it, because this _building_ and company has my name on it, therefore, _it is mine._ "

"Yeah right, and you're the Queen of England. Fuck off, asshole."

In all years of being a corporate head, Izaya has never experienced insubordination, blatant insulting like this. It keeps his anger burning hot when he moves close to the metallic piece of resurrected trash, but it also adds an unexpected flare of excitement he remembers from his younger days of freelance work. "No, I'm not, but you're about to be fired because that parking spot is mine and so you can get in your ugly metal death trap and drive it out of my parking lot before you make it worse for yourself, ne. Or can you even understand the sort of argument you've brought to me, you knuckle-dragging ape."

Izaya moves closer, switchblade removed from one of many hidden pockets and even if he isn't dressed in a suit, he knows how to intimidate with a simple flick of one of his many pocket knives. The brute backs up, growling under his breath like a rabid dog and Izaya feels the itch for a fight tremble nervously through his veins with the burn of anticipation. He's suffered too long without a healthy fight to get out of his system.

Stepping into the light, Izaya blinks as the wash of orange glow strips his vision in a blinding adjustment from the darkness. The streetlamp doesn't do much, dim and having not been replaced due to the issue weighing on his mind all week and ignoring the bitchy complaint of his secretary to just tow the car away.

No, he likes these sorts of arrangements much more personal.

"Unless you'd rather embarrass yourself out here, I suggest you…"

But the second his eyes adjust, his breath catches in his throat with the falter of his fingers. His eyes fool him, riding along the curve of a snarl that softens where he doesn't notice it, too busy staring at the face glaring back at him.

Well, isn't a handsome face with a strong jaw, blond hair that's obviously been dyed, and ugly blue shades over brown eyes just a surprise. Just as much as the quick look-over of strong muscles, not bulging in the slightest, but uncomfortably tight in the suit that's clearly too small and too baggy all at once, and the worst part is that it doesn't even detract from how _handsome_ this stranger is.

No, it only makes him look _delectable_ at three in the morning and even as dark as it is, the dry burn of wanting those slightly dry lips aches in Izaya's throat in a tangled breath.

"…Oh shit, you're…" the very attractive stranger clumsily forces out, throat dry and for a spark of his brain short-circuiting Izaya forgets to think, drained of all past anger. The woozy rush of confused arousal only makes it even harder.

"Izaya Orihara, the CEO of the Orihara…" he shakes his head, knowing it pointless to explain to a worker who's heard all the drivel before. "Anyway, if you think you're going to get out of threatening the executive of the company you work at, I would reconsider that, ne?" A smirk curls on his face as he watches the Adam's apple of the strange bob with a heavy swallow. "And your name…?"

The blond sucks in a breath. "Heiwajima Shizuo. I–I mean Shizuo Heiwajima." But then his eyes narrow as he recalls Izaya's previous insults, the look on his face darkening into a scowl. "But if you think I'm gonna sit here and grovel to keep my job you're a dumbass bloodsucking flea. Fire me if you want, doesn't change how much of an asshole you are."

The grip on his car–Izaya hadn't noticed it before–tightens, the screech of metal protesting catching both of them off guard before Shizuo removes his hand, clenching it into a restrained fist.

And oh, Izaya could do that, but with the puppy-eyed look the blond manages to pull off so well, he can think of a few other things he'd like to do first. "You can keep your job, Shizu-chan," he watches with malicious glee as the other chokes on the nickname, snarling under his breath, "but there are some terms."

He holds up a finger, silencing the beast with a singe move and continuing to smile as if he's already won his prize. "One, you get a promotion and a better suit. That looks completely wrong on you, and I don't want my image tarnished. And no, I don't care about what my underlings look like, but you're not an underling anymore. Two, you're working for me. What position did you have before, Shizu-chan?"

"Security," Shizuo bites out, teeth grinding together but Izaya keeps his eyes trained on him.

A nod follows a satisfied hum. "Then you'll be my private bodyguard, all office hours and back to my apartment. You don't work for anyone but me, understand?" He watches as the beast looks conflicted in all his restrained, animalistic nature with the same look to a prowling tiger in a cage. With no choice to pick anything else except what Izaya wants.

"And three," Izaya moves closer and he finds that Shizuo doesn't move away at all, just so close he could kiss him from here and he'd probably never notice it. "You're giving me my parking space back. You'll be driving for me, and I expect this hunk of shit to be out of my parking lot within an hour." He moves closer, smelling cheap cologne and it's ridiculous how much the spice drags in his nose and keeps him there.

"Am I clear," Izaya feels Shizuo's controlled breath against his lips, a hand hovering near his hip in attempt to take or break him. "Shizu-chan?"

A pause precedes the carefully measured swallow, breaths hot and dark eyes wide with heat. _"Yes,"_ and Izaya watches him tremble, forcing himself to stay still with his boss draped over him.

And then those lips are on Izaya's, hot and dry and forbidding another word when Shizu-chan's already made a contract with the devil.

 _This will be fun._

* * *

 _Thank you for reading._


End file.
